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“That’s it, my little slut. Mine to fucking ruin.” Jason panted and thrust his hips harder if possible as he rode me through the waves of pleasure. “Fuck. Yes.” He groaned low as he came, his hips stuttering to a standstill as he slumped against me.

We lay still, panting heavily, a hot sweaty mess.

“Well, that’s one way to break in the new mattress.” I laughed lightly.

Jason’s booming laugh vibrated through my chest, making my heart swell. I was so utterly in love with this man.

Maya

Firstdaysonthejob were always stressful, filled with paperwork and orientation, tours and training, my head was ready to explode by the time I pulled into my parent’s driveway. It was hard to think of it as my home, when I hadn’t spent much time there—or was fully welcomed there.

It was a little after six-thirty and I was starving. I’d found out quickly that I probably wouldn’t be getting out of work on time—ever—not when I had to catch up the night shift nurse in my area, then chart my patients—not that I’d done any of that today. But it would be my routine eventually.

Grabbing my lunch box and purse, I climbed out of my car and headed for the house. I could only pray that my mother had madedinner. With any luck, I could just heat up a plate, and eat before I took a shower and fell into bed.

“Where have you been?” My mother’s shrill voice cut through my exhaustion and had my metaphorical hackles rising.

Looking up, I found my mother standing in doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Elaine Henderson was short and petite with short graying blond hair that she still dyed and a pinched look permanently on her face. “Work. I told you; my hours are from nine to six during training.”

Her mother narrows her eyes at her. “I expected a phone call that you’d be home late.”

“I came straight home from work. Literally. Traffic was hell.”

“Don’t get an attitude with me. You want to live in my house, you can abide by my rules. A phone call when you’re going to be late is common curtsey.”

“I’m not late, though. I told you my hours, and with traffic this time of night—”

“Enough with the attitude,” my mother snapped.

“I don’t have an attitude,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “You’re not listening.”

“You, ungrateful little brat,” my mother ranted. “You think you know it all? Well, you can do it all then too. I want you out of this house.”

My mouth dropped open in shock, my mouth practically hitting the floor. “You’re kicking me out?”

“Sure am.”

“For what? Exactly?” I ground the words out between clenched teeth, as my body began to shake. I gripped my bags tightly, my knuckles white as I waited for my mother to speak again.

“For being rude. I won’t have you talk to me like that in my own home.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

I looked into the living room, noticing my father for the first time. Sitting in his recliner watching TV, he had heard everything and had not said a word. “Dad?” I asked him, hoping for back up.

“You heard your mother.” His voice was gruff, no-nonsense, leaving zero room for debate.

Tears welled in my eyes, but I blinked them back, refusing to justify my mother with any emotion. “Bad enough you couldn’t come to my college graduation, now you’re kicking me out, because of traffic? What did I ever do, to make you hate me so much?”

My mother didn’t respond, instead, she turned her back to me and walked away, leaving me to gape after her. Turning to my father, I walked around the recliner, so I was between him and the TV that he cared more about, than his own daughter.

His caramel eyes, eyes that matched my own, flicked from the TV to meet my gaze. “Don’t look at me like that,” he sighed. “You know how your mother is. Give her some time, she’ll calm down.”

I just shook my head as disappointment raged through me. “One day, you’re gonna look back and wonder just how you lost me, and you’re going to realize you did nothing to stop it.”

Emotions flickered across his caramel eyes. “Don’t be like that, sweetheart.”

I just shook my head, fighting to back the sob that was bubbling in my chest. Abruptly, I turned away and headed for my bedroom. I needed to pack; I needed to leave before I broke down. I would not give my mother satisfaction of seeing my pain.

In my bedroom, I grabbed my two large suitcases—that I still hadn’t unpacked in the week I’d been home from school. In fact, all I needed to do, was pack up my bathroom, grab my dirty clothes basket and my suitcases and I would be set for a while. I could come back and grab my mountains of boxes later, but I’d at least have enough to get me by.